Eavan's Wrath
by Elysium66
Summary: Rose has never spent much time around the enigmatic Scorpius Malfoy. That is until the two are thrown together by circumstance to discover something that was never intended to be uncovered: a secret which dates back more than a millennium.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This is my latest WIP it's an adventure/mystery –ish Rose/Scorpius which I hope you all enjoy :)**

**Prologue**

_**... 997 A.D ...**_

Gold light shone in shafts from the captured flame which burned upon a candle's wick, warming the cold stone walls of the windowless room. The glow was concentrated at the very centre of the small space, revealing a thick ply of richly hued rugs and pillows which formed a make shift bed.

Where the light receded from its centre, it was swallowed up in the heavy drape of darkness which beckoned from the room's hidden corners.

A slight glint of that light played along the ornate edges of a gilt frame which hung on one of the walls. Yet the man facing it could not observe the detail of the painting, obscured as it was in the darkness.

He knew the scene it held though, knew it very well.

His stare was pressing and held a clue at the depth of meaning to his thoughts in that moment. So too did the shadows beneath the tortured gaze and the hard line of his clenched jaw.

Small and slender hands traced beguiling patterns across the skin of his bare shoulders. The touch seemed to call the man's attention back to the young woman before him; her face upturned to his, her nubile body open to his disturbed gaze.

Her lips curved into a secret smile, one of many he had received before. He questioned this one now in a way he never had before, when he had trusted her. She pressed her warm cheek against the seam of his neck and shoulder and brushed soft, wet lips to his skin.

The tickle of her hair and the scent which rose to meet his nose acted as a heady reminder that clutched at the churning emotions within him: anger, guilt and lust. Broiling, stirring and overwhelming though they were, the man knew that on this night he must not succumb to their strength.

Everything relied on him and what it was he had to do.

The man took a deep breath, but clarity was not forthcoming; instead the perfume of her hair rose higher around him, all encompassing. He lifted her head to hold her face before him and wondered at the truth that lay beneath such beauty. Her long-lashed eyes were large and wide and tempting.

Always tempting.

The woman pressed her comely form against him and he recalled other times when they had been together, like this but so very different. There had been times when he had unwrapped her like the gift he had thought she was, when he had revelled in her presence, her knowledge and the power she had seemed to emanate. She had been his protégé, the most beautiful flower in his garden and he had quite forgotten his senses. He had forgotten the caution he usually showed.

But he knew how she was tainted now, could taste the bitter knowledge in each of her kisses.

And still, even as he knew this, the man felt his resolve crumbling at her gentle touch. He would not forsake his duty; but stronger men had fallen at such a promise as was held in her gaze. He would taste her just once before the time would come.

A feline expression of triumph and desire gleamed across her features at the expression of surrender in his eyes and she turned her mouth up to meet his once more.

His hands swept through tumultuous curls, along the arched line of her back, into moist crevices and across smooth skin. The sound of her breath in his ear, his name and words of love caused the burning coil within him to tighten.

Lies, he knew. All lies. And dangerous ones at that.

Her hands traced circles across his heated flesh, drawing paths of fire over his abdomen. They moved lower to caress him and the air hissed through his clenched teeth. She had eager hands, practiced hands. And he could not allow for that, not this night.

With an evasive sweep he brushed those hands away and hauled her body against his. She responded with enthusiasm, her arms embracing his neck, her legs enwrapped around his waist. He could feel her heat against him, warm and slick and pulsing, dizzying his senses. Her breasts were soft as they brushed the harsh wall of his chest, they pressed against him like beacons of her yearning. He knew that, despite her deception, she had never lied to him about this.

She shifted her hips and, as her lips brushed across ear in a whispered caress, she was there. He surged forward and felt her teeth graze his lobe.

They were still for a long moment as he fought for control of his senses and then cursed the nubile movement of her hips for the way he lost his mind. She held him warm and firm, cloaking him in all of her.

The taste of sweat on her neck and the scrape of her nails across his slick shoulders were his undoing. A catch of broken sound thrummed in his throat at the remembered feel of her sheathed around him: a reminder and a curse. The light glinted off her bare breasts, rosy-hued and flushed. It danced across her features and curled through the tresses of her hair.

The room bore witness to the man's greatest weakness: this alluring woman, the one that would undo everything. The one who had unravelled him.

He wanted desperately to fall apart in her once more, to feel her clench around him, to feel her lips fastened against his. He could not chance it, though. It would risk more than could be imagined.

The man drew a deep breath and steeled his resolve without a change in his rhythm that would alert the shuddering figure draped across his frame. A palm held her firm as, with his other hand; he stroked the fine texture of a narrow strip of wood held behind his back.

The woman sighed and a satisfied smile curved along the red line of her lips. She opened large eyes as he brushed a finger across her mouth and whispered his goodbye. He saw the look of awareness, the cowering of fear and desire for flight that ran across her features.

It almost made the man think her as fragile as she seemed, he knew better though. But she had not credited him with knowing the truth of actions, her ill intentions; she had not realised how very much he knew. But this was his domain, and he always knew.

He felt her muscles bunching beneath her sweat-soaked skin as she made to spring free from his grip, but he held firm and stared at her with eyes that showed his anger and his pain.

She stared back it him, eyes wide open and fierce in their expression. He knew they would haunt him always.

Light burst from his wand and he caught the final hunted look in her gaze before she disappeared from his embrace. The light faded slowly from the tip of his wand and lingered to dance once more along the gilt frame of the hidden portrait.

Though he kneeled on the floor of the now empty room and told himself that she was gone, he knew better. He knew that the courage for which he was renowned had failed him, because he could not kill the beautiful creature as he should have. She had been his failing and none must ever know.

The man braced himself against the churning from within and vowed resolutely that she would not return.

He could never allow it.


	2. A Prefect's Duty

_A/N: Ok here's chapter two where we get the ball really rolling. As you will notice, Scorpius was sorted into Ravenclaw, in keeping with his personality. I think it's dreadfully cliche to assume they'd be replicas of their parents. But that's just my interpretation; my Scorpius wouldn't fit in with the Slytherins. Enjoy!_

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**A Prefect's Duty**

His hair looked especially shiny in the late afternoon sunlight. Rose could _feel_ the slightly wistful expression lighting her features and felt a renewed gratitude for her well-honed perving skills. She ducked her head to gaze away from the object of her poetic musings to look blankly at the untouched leaf of parchment before her.

A mental groan sounded between her ears. She had promised herself that she would be more diligent in her note-taking this year. It was only two days into the new term and already her resolution was flailing.

It wasn't really her fault though. Honestly, she hadn't realised that a certain boy would be in her NEWT transfiguration class this year and hence cause her such distraction. Perhaps, she reflected, the latter part of that thought hadn't been _entirely_ true. He could hardly help but to be distracting.

So distracting, in fact, that she completely missed the way the low hum of classroom chatter had ceased. It was a strategically placed elbow to her rib which made her aware of the mortifying reality of the situation in which she now found herself.

"Miss Weasley…" The grating tones of Professor Constant Muse called her gaze away from Nathanial Hinchcliffe's glossy head, which had incidentally turned in her direction.

"Yes, Professor?" she said contritely. She knew the pink flush across her cheeks had spread to all extremities.

"I must say, I'm thrilled to have called your attention from the woeful tribulations of a teenage existence, which was no doubt the subject of your reflection. I hope you will find _this_ subject equally as engrossing."

She nodded mutely, aware of a few ill-concealed sniggers. She noted Nathanial's warm grin and vaguely sympathetic (in other words, oblivious) expression before sweeping her gaze across the smattering of other students in the class, most of whom had lost interest in the exchange.

All except one boy.

The Ravenclaw Prefect, Scorpius Malfoy, was still watching her with a slight pitying curve to his mouth, the only sign in an otherwise impassive expression. It was quite typical of him, she had discovered, and she rather disliked the constant feelings of discomfort and infuriation that such a gaze engendered in her.

If she were being truthful, much of the immediacy of her reaction stemmed from the indiscernible feeling that the presence of this boy was being thrust most unceremoniously upon her. He turned back to face the professor, presumably, to learn something as she ought to be also, because he was most assiduously taking his notes.

With the security of his diverted attention, Rose allowed her pensive gaze to fall on him. Her thoughts traced back two days prior to the blisteringly awkward encounter on the Hogwarts Express at the inaugural Prefect meeting.

Rose had been a Prefect in her fifth year also and so was well aware of the requirements that came with the position. As such she had immediately said farewell to the clan and wandered into the prefectorial carriage at the front of the train. One of the main things she liked, if she were being truly honest, about being a Prefect was the privileges awarded. The sumptuous carriage was infinitely nicer than the normal ones.

Her appreciation of the finer points of being a Prefect was dimmed at seeing the only two occupants of the carriage. The first had been the clearly harried Head Boy, whose nose was pressed against his many notes. He lifted his head from the page long enough to smile vaguely and gesture for her to take a seat.

The second figure in the small room was _him_; the fair haired boy, who was at the time silently gazing out the window. He hadn't looked uncomfortable or perturbed by the complete absence of sound in the carriage; he was all relaxed bearing and composure. She sat down with as little fuss as possible, aware that his gaze had fallen on her. It was both impassive yet probing in a way she had only witnessed in adults trying to glean the truth of some mishap from a child. He glanced away quite languidly.

The silence in the small space was a buzzing in her ears and cloyingly like sweet perfume, which ate away at the oxygen surrounding her. She was perfectly aware that, had her companion been anyone else, she would have engaged in small talk at the very least.

But Scorpius Malfoy seemed quite at ease in the quiet moment whilst Rose, lively and sometimes prone to mindless chatter as she was, could barely sit still. With her extensive, and some might say dysfunctional family, she was used to noise and chatter and was even comforted by it. There had been nothing comfortable about that moment before the others had arrived.

Rose had long since decided that Scorpius was an oddity, certainly compared to any of the boys she had ever known; stranger still because although he _did_ seem to be rather quiet in nature, she _had_ noticed that he was perfectly capable of socialising with a whole spectrum of other people.

She had thought, at first, that it was perhaps a result of their history; or, she should say, their parents' history. It was a gulf that lay between them in a way that didn't seem a problem with the others of her generation. She knew all about the animosity that had existed between her father and his, and likewise with her famous uncle.

Rose had grown up hearing the stories of their time at Hogwarts before war and death had run rampant through their lives. They told the stories as though they were fables of happy, humorous times. In her mind they _had_ always seemed rather like fairytales and myths, for she could scarcely fathom the world that her parents had experienced.

She knew perfectly well that they had not intended for her to take seriously the stories of their childhood animosities, nor to carry the burden for her generation. They would never tell her that she couldn't talk to him, for any real dissent had died in their youth, yet Rose could not deny that she felt a bit tainted by the stories she had heard about the Malfoy family.

Albus had frequent and civil conversations with _him_, yet every time she had been by her cousin's side on those occasions, the other boy had remained fairly quiet. He didn't seem all that shy to her though. There was a certain pride in his carriage and the unruffled way he behaved. He struck her quite ostensibly as the sort of person who didn't speak unless he had something to say.

Rose inferred that to mean that he had nothing to say to her. She supposed it was also partially her fault that they had gotten to their sixth year at Hogwarts without sharing the slightest conversation; for she certainly had never made any attempts herself. Perhaps if she had, it might have been a non-issue. After all, the social structure at Hogwarts held no resemblance to that of her parents' experience.

In those days the students had stuck rigidly to their house and the sorting hat had, apparently, waxed lyrical about the virtues of inter-house unity. Some pre-conceptions about people based on their houses certainly remained, and she supposed that would never change. For the most part, however, the relationships between students, regardless of house allegiance, were quite good, she thought.

It was this point which made the disquiet between them all the more obvious, to her ears at least. And apparently to his also, for when a certain Hufflepuff Prefect had ambled into the carriage, her relief must surely have shone across her face. She had promptly engaged the boy in conversation and quite immediately felt the incisive, blue gaze upon her again. A stealth glance in his direction had revealed the raised corner of his mouth, a distinct signifier that Scorpius Malfoy was aware of her discomfort and how he had caused it.

The meeting itself had, of course, served the dual purpose of welcoming the new Prefects and allowing the Heads to enumerate their many duties, the primary of which was nightly patrol duty. It was that particular aspect of the meeting to which Rose had been most eagerly anticipating.

She was well aware that partnerships were organised on the basis of a mix between houses and gender. The year prior she had been lumbered with Dichus Spirling of Slytherin, a reedy looking boy who had a permanent odour of rancid butter about him. The cause for her excitement was the knowledge that she was now in with a fifty percent chance of being paired with Nathaniel of the shiny hair, the Hufflepuff Prefect with the warm eyes and a smile that made her tummy tingle.

Of course, the odds of being paired with Scorpius Malfoy had been, lamentably, just the same.

And much to her consternation, that had been precisely the result. Nathaniel nudged her and, with a conciliatory smile, said, "Next year eh?" She had glanced at the boy by the window and knew that he had noted her expression, his own revealing a mixture of pitying amusement and arrogance, but it was so subtly conveyed that they couldn't possibly be sure that she had read him right.

They were allocated the Tuesday and Thursday night shifts, and as luck would have it, today was the former. Doomsday, a pessimist might have said.

Rose felt her shoulders slump in resignation as she looked away from the still scribbling boy, and turned her attention back to Professor Muse's fascinating discussion of the torturous year ahead.

It was on that uplifting note that the class ended and she was ushered out of the classroom alongside her fellow students.

"He really labours the point, doesn't he?" The question came from her cousin, Albus, though to whom he was referring, she had not the slightest inkling.

Her brow puckered tellingly as she queried, "Who?"

"Muse, of course, who else would I be talking about?" He glanced back at her; clearly realising she had stopped walking amid their conversation, and tugged on the sleeve of her robe.

"Er-right. Of course. That was embarrassing." She sighed in recollection.

"Not enough to stop you though, was it?" She didn't like the knowing grin that he was failing to hide.

"Come again?" was her only rejoinder.

"_Well_… you certainly weren't paying the amount of attention he'd asked for, were you? Too busy staring holes into the back of Malfoy's head, eh."

Rose narrowed her eyes at him before yanking free of his grip and stalking toward their common room; she had to drop off all her books before dinner.

She heard the peal of his laughter from behind her echoing lowly in the corridor. It was, clearly, going to be a long night.

* * *

"You're late."

Rose nearly jumped out of her skin when the voice sounded from a near dark crevice in the westerly corridor. Her hand clutched tellingly at the fabric around her throat, and she glanced disconcertingly at the owner of the previously disembodied voice.

"Was that really necessary?" she gasped, irritation and embarrassment colouring her voice.

He was standing close now, looking down at her in that direct way that was clearly his custom, but which she found completely threw her. He didn't glance away as often as was generally considered polite.

Scorpius tilted his head in what was, apparently, some sort of apology. Now rather prickly in temper, Rose muttered under her breath as she stalked in the direction they were to take. After a few minutes her irritation had abated and she was increasingly conscious of the echo of their footsteps sounding in the hall. It was the only noise to be heard.

Her palms itched uncomfortably, a clear sign of her restlessness. They couldn't very well wander around in silence for half an hour, could they?

"Do you talk at all, then?" she asked rather impetuously. She thought she saw a flicker of surprised amusement, which only served to annoy her further.

Rose wasn't one for cool composure and silent exchanges. She liked to have everything out in the open, and she suspected that, as a result of their completely disparate natures, that these patrols were likely to be a trial. Twice weekly? _Merlin, save her._

"No. I'm mute," he responded easily. "I communicate with teachers by way of private owl service and complicated hand gestures. It's a work in progress." His voice was low and matter of fact; its warmth surprised her. She couldn't completely hide the appreciative grin at his rebuttal either.

"Ah, so you're witty then."

He shrugged his shoulders benevolently, and she found herself quite thrown by the many contradictions he presented.

Silence reigned supreme again and she discerned that he seemed, as ever, quite content to allow it. Rose slid a sideways glance in his direction, noting, now that they were standing shoulder to shoulder (or perhaps more accurately, nose to shoulder), how very much taller he was than her.

He had the Malfoy looks by all accounts, but in a less extreme manifestation than his forefathers. His hair, fair though it was, had more warmth to its hue than the icy blond his paternal family line was known for. His skin was much the same. With his gaze lowered as it was, she couldn't quite discern the vibrantly blue colour of his eyes, though she knew it quite well. Rose thought it unfairly typical that he had such lovely eyelashes, it was a feature so wasted on a boy.

The lovely eyes were set in a face inherently male though. Strong jaw. Strong lips. Lips which were quirked in amusement once more. Rose felt heat spread across her cheeks as she lifted her gaze to meet his.

She sighed. "I wasn't, you know..."

"Staring?" He cut in helpfully.

"Well, no, I suppose I _was_ doing that. But not in _that_ way. I don't find you _attractive…_" Rose could not recall a time in her life when she less regretted her tendency for foot in mouth scenarios.

He looked taken aback at her perceived frankness and at the same time something in his expression clearly said he was laughing at her expense, on the inside, naturally. He was impossible to read.

"I didn't mean it like that, you're very… well.."

He cut her off before she could ramble further, to say, "Yes, you did. I'll try not to hold it against you."

She peered at him curiously. His tone was affable; not at all what she would have expected given that she had practically called him unattractive, particularlygiven the fact that he quite blatantly was not. Perverse situations always befell her.

"You aren't offended?"

"Should I be?" He raised a brow at her question and she wanted to hit him for not being a typically transparent boy.

"Well, your ego surely…" She let her sentence hang, suddenly uncertain as to how they had ventured down this path.

"And you just assume that my ego stems from my perceived attractiveness, or lack there of, as it were?" She stared at him, quite flummoxed. She felt immediately off centre around this strange, eloquent and apparently rather mature boy. He clearly took her lack of response to be a resounding yes.

"You make a lot of assumptions about someone you don't know at all." His tone was observant instead of remonstrative as it might have been. He watched her squirm for a moment before gesturing forwards and wandering ahead of her confused self.

* * *

The final stretch of their shift finished infinitely quicker than the awkward opening conversation might have suggested. Rose had decided to take charge of the conversation, completely unable to abide any further quiet between them, she had taken to firing questions at him instead. She supposed he was well aware of what she was doing, though if he was he chose not to comment on it, for which she was most grateful. He did, however, manage to deflect many of her questions back at her, and hence allowed her to ramble away instead. She didn't mind, it filled the silence and eased the overriding sense of discomfort she had in his presence.

He was just a boy, a weird one, granted. But a boy nonetheless.

She opened her mouth to respond to another question when she felt him stop suddenly beside her. Swiftly, one hand gripped her upper arm and the other moved to press cool fingers against her parted lips. Her eyes widened in surprise and he made a gesture telling her to be quiet.

Whatever caused the sound he had heard was long gone for he turned away from the direction he had been staring in to glance down at her. Something about the expression on her face must have spoken volumes for he realised then that he still held her prone.

His arms dropped immediately and he took a cursory step back from her, lighting his wand as he did. Yellow light filtered down the intersecting corridor. His laugh came out on a breath when he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'stupid cat'.

"Come on, we're nearly done," he said as he gestured onwards.

Aside from the disconcerting back and forth between herself and her companion, the evening had been rather uneventful. Rose knew from experience, though, that the quietness of the first week of patrols was never a good reflection of the months ahead. Students turned into night-crawling reprobates quite quickly into the new school year.

She was just reflecting on this universally acknowledged truth when Scorpius stopped again. She glanced at him in exasperation but his gaze was directed ahead and to the left of where they were standing. The slightly indulged slur of the Fat Lady could be heard resonating down the corridor.

He had walked her back to her common room, though they had been infinitely closer to his own dormitories, which were located somewhere in the Western Tower. She couldn't recall an occasion when Spirling had extended the same courtesy the year before, though in retrospect, she probably ought to be rather grateful for that.

She shuddered at the thought before reverting back to the present situation. She glanced at him questioningly before asking, "How'd you-"

He just lifted his shoulders in a careless gesture that she was quickly beginning to associate with him, a habit that came out when he clearly intended to ignore a question, and tilted his head in farewell before wandering back down the corridor. His shape was quickly swallowed up by the tangible darkness of the hallway.

Rose was, unequivocally, stumped.


End file.
